The mood in the saloons frequented by Ætherists grew sombre.
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Those who most believed now grieve as we all grieve the constant changes of our lives, as we all try to process the loss of a long-held belief in the face of changing evidence, of new experience, of a growing and ever-evolving world. I may not have ever felt a belief so deeply that I wasn't sure how to go on after learning something different (you know, like when Inspector Javert learns that maybe he was wrong all those decades in projecting evil and chaos on a man who simply committed a crime out of hunger and desperation but he can't cope with that realization so he, logically, throws himself off of a bridge) but I have had a deli close down where I loved to go and eat their meatball subs while drinking Mr. Pibb out of their soda fountain and skimming the Willamette Week for rock shows at local venues. That's pretty similar, right? Heck, we all mourn the loss of locations we've grown fond of visiting because change is constant. And that may as well be like losing religion was to people in the 19th Century. Right?
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